BALLS 2 REDUX
by SupernaturallyEgocentric
Summary: This is Part II of the Balls! saga. If you want to, read the first part. BALLS! also available here. Upshot is that Sam is accused of Jessica's murder. He and Dean are hiding out in Mexico, hunting, while a paid assassin is on Sam's trail. EPILOGUE. This story is COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

Chako jerked his head toward the two men sitting at the other side of the crowded room. "It's Winchester, _si_?"

Hartwell took another swallow of beer, taking the opportunity to shoot another look at the young man in question. "Yeah, it's him, all right."

Chako grinned. "When do I get my money?"

Hartwell slid an envelope across the table. The old man started to open it and Hartwell speared him with a cold glare. "Not in here, asshole."

Chako's eyes narrowed; then he took another look at the hard look in the American's eyes, shrugged and shuffled out of the bar.

Hartwell finished his beer. He motioned to the waitress for another, then settled in to wait.

ΩΩΩ

Sam stirred, restless.

"What's up?" Dean asked.

"Nothing."

Dean snorted. "Bullshit. You're twitchy as hell."

Sam shifted in his chair and looked warily around the bar. "Feels like someone's watching me," he muttered.

Dean nodded toward their waitress, who was gazing yearningly at Sam. "Probably just your little friend."

Sam didn't look at her, just drained his glass and stood, a scowl on his scruffy face. "Probably."

"Where you going?"

Sam's tone was flat. "Home."

Dean groaned. "Dude, it's not even nine o'clock!"

"So stay."

"Nah." Dean sighed. He'd rather stay and drink, maybe hook up with one of the local senoritas, but experience had taught him not to ignore his brother's 'feelings'. "Well, at least we got dinner."

Sam headed to the door, Dean close behind.

Hartwell followed.

ΩΩΩ


	2. Chapter 2

Jimmy Hartwell had spent most of his life being pissed off. He was used to it. But right now, he was so mad he felt like his head was on fire.

He'd been in Mexico for ten months tracking down Sam Winchester. Ten months! Close on to a _year_ of bad food, crappy beds, and a case of the damned runs that just wouldn't quit!

And then, after all that, he finds the kid just _five_ miles from the U.S. border, living in some dipshit tourist town like he didn't have a price on his head and a place on the FBI's Most Wanted list!

It was a fucking joke and the joke was on Jimmy Fucking Hartwell.

Even if I weren't being paid to off this creep, I'd kill him for the runs alone, Hartwell thought balefully, eyes fixed on the tall, shaggy-haired figure striding down the street ahead of him.

It was early still, the small town's streets packed with people. It made it easy for Hartwell to shadow his quarry without too much danger of being seen.

They entered a residential area and the crowds thinned; fewer tourists and more town folk. He dropped back a bit to get more space between them, at the same time trying not to catch the eye of any curious passersby.

After a few minutes, his prey entered a small, dark house set back from the street.

Hartwell waited.

A single light turned on in the house. One man crossed briefly in front of an open window. After a moment, he heard what sounded like a radio and a man's laughter.

The end was in sight. Hartwell smiled grimly and, gun drawn, approached the house.

ΩΩΩ

"You know, Sammy, I could be having me a really good time right now," Dean grumbled. Rummaging around in the kitchen cupboard, he pulled out a half-empty bottle of whiskey and poured himself a stiff shot. "I could be playing pool, or cards. Or maybe lettin' some pretty girl take advantage of me."

"But _noooo."_ He tossed back the whiskey and grimaced. "God forbid we should have some actual fun!" He glowered at the empty kitchen, then poured another drink. "There's no virtue in celibacy, Sam! All it's gonna get you is hairy palms!"

The kitchen door opened.

Dean turned without surprise to face it.

"Where's your fucking brother?" Hartwell hissed, gun levelled at Dean's head.

ΩΩΩ

Dean didn't answer and Hartwell's finger tightened on the trigger. "Where - is - he?" he repeated.

Dean sipped from his glass. "Your guess is as good as mine," he said mildly.

Hartwell came in a little further, looking hastily around, keeping his gun trained on Dean. "I _heard_ you talking to him!"

"Yeah?"

"Damn it, where is he?"

 _Click-click._

"Right here," Sam said coldly.

Hartwell had no problem recognizing the distinctive sound of a hammer being drawn back. He froze, eyes fixed on Dean's gentle smile.

Not feeling quite so gentle, Sam jammed the muzzle of his revolver into the back of Hartwell's neck. "Don't you fucking move. Dean?"

"Yeah, yeah, I got it." Sighing, Dean stepped forward and extracted the gun from Hartwell's shocked fingers. "But Sammy? Next stakeout, _you're_ the goat."

ΩΩΩ

In the original Hartwell's name was Benny. This story was written pre canon vampire Benny, so I thought I'd better change his name to avoid any confusion.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean searched the stranger, quickly and thoroughly. When he'd finished, he had three guns, a wicked-looking knife, a lock pick and a small spool of wire which he suspected was a garrote. "He's no cop."

Sam looked at the lethal pile on the kitchen floor. "The Feds have a reward out on me. But this guy doesn't smell like that." He glared at Hartwell. "This guy's a killer."

Hartwell snorted. "Look who's talking!"

"Who sent you?" Sam said softly. "Only gonna ask you once."

Hartwell glared back at him but didn't answer.

Sam's eyes went cold. His finger curled around the trigger, tightened.

"Sammy?" Dean said warningly. "Don't. We'll figure something out."

"We can't let him go," Sam bit out. "I don't want to be looking over my shoulder for this asshole."

"Yeah." Dean gave the stranger a crooked grin. "You'd be right back on our trail, wouldn't you?"

Hartwell, wisely, kept his mouth shut.

Dean stared at him for a long moment, chewing thoughtfully on his lower lip. Finally, he turned to his brother.

"Hey Sammy, you remember what Mateo told us about that sketchy police captain next town over?"

Sam frowned. Then his stern lips twitched and he started to laugh.

ΩΩΩ

Captain Santiago Orlando Ruiz looked at his blown-open safe and swelled up like an outraged bullfrog. "I am going to _kill_ that fucking _pendejo_!"

A white-faced subordinate tried to get his attention. "Sir, you need to see –"

"I don't care who it was. I don't care how long it takes," Ruiz howled. "I'm going to find this fucking thief, tear off his arms and beat him to death with them!"

"Sir!"

The stocky police captain stopped in mid-rant and glared at his lieutenant. "WHAT!"

"Sir." The lieutenant quailed. "Outside." He scuttled toward the front of the station and threw the door open, gesturing outside with a shaky flourish.

Jimmy Hartwell sat cross-legged in the middle of the dusty street, bounded and gagged, eyes bugging out with red-eyed fury.

In front of the bound man the captain saw a carpetbag, gaping open and overflowing with money, jewelry, and some very familiar-looking _personal_ items.

The captain's eyes narrowed. His lips curved in an evil smile.

"Well, well. _Pendejo_!"

ΩΩΩ


	4. Chapter 4

Ten minutes after depositing Jimmy "Up Shit Creek" Hartwell off in front of the Chapita police station, the black Impala was eating up the highway, heading south.

The little house they'd called home for the last two months had been emptied, their scanty possessions hastily stuffed into the trunk of the car, and the green cooler in the back seat was chock full of Coronas and farewell tacos from their favorite stand.

Dean was always happy to be on the road, regardless of whatever shitstorm was going down at the moment. That morning, he'd plugged in a Seger cassette the minute his jeans hit Baby's seat and he was doing _awesome_.

His brother – not so much.

Sam had gone quiet when they left Chapita. He'd done nothing in the last two hours but sit, stony faced and silent, ignoring every attempt at conversation that Dean had thrown at him.

Dean considered Sam's stone face to be a step up from the scowl he'd worn so much over the last several months but, damn it, he had to do _something_ to get Sam out of the funk he was in. Much more of this cold shoulder and he was just gonna throw a paper bag over the kid's head and call it good!

"Hey, grumpy," he said, trying to keep it light. "How about we head over to Rosarita? Haven't been there for a while."

No answer from his brother. If anything, his face got even stonier.

"Or maybe Mexico City." Dean persisted. "Maybe we can pick up that chupacabra's trail again."

When there was still no response, Dean chuffed out an impatient breath. " _Sam_ –"

The stone face cracked. Sam turned to face him. "Pull over, Dean," he said tightly.

Dean looked around at the whole lot of nothing surrounding them. "What the hell for?"

"Just pull over."

With a shrug, Dean pulled the Impala to the side of the road. He turned down the music, and waited.

"That guy was a pro," Sam said, after a tense pause. "Whoever sent him, they aren't going to give up. They'll just send someone else."

"Probably." Dean tried to sound unconcerned. "We can handle it."

"For how long? I'm _tired_ of handling it!" Sam bit out. "I want to clear my name and I can't do it from here! Damn it, I want to go _home_!"

Dean was startled into silence for a moment. "You know Bobby said it wasn't a good idea," he ventured. "They're still looking for you. Hell, they had a warrant out at his place just last month."

"So what?" Sam said mutinously. "Doesn't seem like Mexico is any safer."

"Sam –" Dean hesitated, studying the stubborn set of Sam's face. "Sammy, if they catch you, they'll lock you up. Maybe not prison, but - dude, a nuthouse is still a cage."

Sam paled and his lips tightened.

"Listen, just a little longer," Dean pressed gently. "Just a couple more months?"

"It's already been more than a _year_!" Sam retorted. His gaze dropped to his clenched fists as he struggled to control himself, tried to keep his voice level. "Dean, I _need_ for Jess' parents to know I didn't kill her."

"Sammy." Dean's heart broke a little at the pain on his brother's face. "If they lock you up, they are _never_ letting you out. Ever. We gotta stay here. We gotta give Bobby and Dad more time."

Sam stiffened at the mention of their father, then his shoulders slumped in defeat and he stared blindly out the passenger window. " _Shit_."

"Sammy." Dean touched his brother's shoulder, sighed when Sam pulled away. "Okay."

Turning the music back up, he pulled back out onto the road. "I vote for Mexico City. Let's go kick us some Chupacabra ass."

ΩΩΩ


	5. Chapter 5

ΩΩΩ

"What about the chupacabra?"

"It'll wait." Sam tossed him a newspaper. "Seven kids have vanished over the last few months. Took a while for the cops to catch on because the disappearances are spread all out all over the city."

"Why's this our kind of deal?"

"The last kid that vanished, his sister says _El Cucuy_ took him."

Dean's brow creased. "Who?"

" _El Cucuy_ ," Sam repeated. "Some kinda boogeyman. Parents use him to keep their kids in line. 'Do what I say or _El Cucuy_ will get you.'"

"Whoa." Dean winced. "Harsh."

"Yeah." Sam's tone was bitter. "Parents."

ΩΩΩ

Hands on plump hips, Rosalia Perez stared sternly down at her son.

"Bed, hijo. Now!"

"I don't wanna go to bed!" Hector stamped his five-year-old foot. "Abella doesn't have to go to bed! Why do I?"

"Because I said so, that's why!" his mother snapped. "When you're older, you can stay up later, too. Now, to bed, little man!"

Hector stuck out his lower lip stubbornly. "No!"

Abella came into the bedroom. Her grin was sly. "You'd better go to bed, Hector, or _El Cucuy_ will get you!"

"What?" the boy protested, eyes widening. "No, Mama says he's not real!"

"Then what happened to Jose Nunez, smarty-pants?" Abella said pertly.

Hector's eyes widened with fear and his breathing quickened as he looked at his sister.

"Abella!" Rosalia snapped. She took her daughter by the shoulders and steered her toward the door. "Stop trying to frighten your brother!"

"But it's true, Mama!" Abella insisted. "Ricky Fernandez told me so! Ana Nunez saw _El Cucuy_ take Jose!"

Hector started to wail.

ΩΩΩ

Dean watched as Sam knelt in front of the little girl playing in the neighborhood park's sandbox. His brother gave her a smile, and then offered her a little doll they'd picked up earlier that day at a street stall.

The child looked toward a woman dressed heavily in black, who was sitting on a nearby bench. After a brief hesitation, she smiled shyly at Sam and accepted the doll. The two started to talk.

"ANA!"

The woman in black charged forward. Hissing venomously at Sam, she grabbed up her daughter and clutched her to her breast, distraught and clearly about to start screaming.

Sam rose and stepped back. Staying cool, he gave the woman a small, polite bow, speaking quickly, reassuringly.

The woman listened. The look of intense strain on her face did not lessen, but when he paused, she stepped forward and gripped his arm, speaking forcefully.

When she finished, Sam nodded and, with a final bow, strode back across the street to the Impala and his waiting brother.

Dean waited until Sam was settled in beside him. "What did you tell her?"

"The truth. That we're searching for the missing children. For her son." Sam's face was taut. He raked an agitated hand back through his thick, dark hair. "She didn't say so, but she thinks he's dead."

"What did the girl say?"

"Tall, with red eyes and claws," Sam said flatly. " _El Cucuy_."

"She saw it take her brother?"

"Right out the bedroom window."

"Poor kid," Dean said feelingly.

"She's lucky it didn't take her, too."

Dean's fingers drummed on Baby's steering wheel as he thought. "We need to find a connection between the missing kids, see how it's picking its victims," he finally said. "That should lead us to him."

Sam hesitated. His eyes went back across the street to where the grieving woman was watching her daughter play on the swings. "You think any of the kids are alive?"

Dean didn't answer. That was answer enough. Instead he said, "What'd she say, at the end?"

"She told me to kill him. _El Cucuy_." Sam took an uneven breath. "I told her we would."

Dean snorted. "Fucking right we will." He started the Impala. "We're gonna find him and we're gonna put a bullet in his head." His voice was grim, and absolute. "If that doesn't work, we just keep trying until something sticks. This prick is toast."

ΩΩΩ

Top of Form


	6. Chapter 6

_Two days later . . ._

Juggling a couple of small bags, Sam opened the door to the motel room, then stopped short halfway in. "Dean! Come on! Give the Magic Fingers a rest!"

Completely unabashed, Dean grinned up at his brother. "Bro's gotta do what a bro's gotta do, Sammy."

Sam went over to the vibrating bed and dropped one of the bags on Dean's chest.

"Burritos!" Dean sat up and dug into his bag. "Thanks, Sammy."

Sam sat down on the room's single shabby armchair and opened his own bag. "What did you find out?"

"The cops have got squat." Dean bit into his burrito and gave a heartfelt groan. "Oh, _man_ , that's good." He chewed blissfully, swallowed. "In fact, they got less than squat. On a squat scale of one to ten, they got minus ninety-three."

"Well, it's not like they got Monster 101 like we did," Sam mumbled through a fish taco.

Dean grunted and the two were silent for a few minutes while they ate.

Afterward, Sam tossed their debris in the room's trash can.

"Soccer," he said to Dean.

Dean just looked confused. "Basketball," he said. "Baseball. What the hell. _Soccer_. What about it?"

"Soccer's the key. Every one of the missing kids played organized soccer."

"Even the girls?"

"My brother, the feminist," Sam snorted. "Haven't you ever heard of Mia Hamm?"

"She's hot!" Dean said appreciatively. "Kinda scary, though. She looks like she could kick my ass without breaking a sweat."

"Yeah, she probably could." Sam ignored Dean's outraged expression. "I checked. All seven of them participated in a junior tournament at the Estadio Azeteca in May."

"Okay, so _El Cucuy_ is a soccer fan. That's freakin' weird." Dean's brow furrowed. "Aztec State. That's a stadium in the southern part of the city, right?"

"Yeah."

"Okay." Dean bounced up off the bed, raring to go. "Let's move it."

"Tonight would be better." Sam glanced at his watch. "They close at nine. Too many people around right now."

"Cool." Dean dropped back onto his bed and gave his brother a mischievous grin. "You got any quarters?"

Before Sam could retaliate with more than a bitchy expression, Dean's cell phone rang. He glanced at the display, then flipped it open. "Hey, Bobby!" A short pause. "What?"

Alerted by the change in Dean's tone, Sam sat down on his own bed and listened closely to Dean's side of the short conversation, which consisted mainly of a few, well-chosen expletives.

When Dean ended the call, he scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed. " _Shit_."

"What is it?" Sam asked quietly.

"Sammy . . ."

"Just say it," Sam said, resignation in his voice.

"Dad's in Mexico. He's looking for us."

ΩΩΩ


	7. Chapter 7

The news of his father's impending arrival blew Sam's always-tenuous cool right out the fucking window.

Rage, instant and all-consuming, seized him. With a snarl, he turned on his heel and started for the door.

Moving fast, Dean caught him as he flung open the door, and grabbed his arm. "Sam, wait!"

"Screw him! I'm outta here!" Sam's voice was a furious growl.

"Sam, _damn_ it!" Dean reached past him and slammed the door. "Calm the hell down!"

Sam tried to pull away but Dean held tight to his arm. After a moment's futile struggle, the fizz drained out of Sam and he slumped against the door, despair washing through him.

"Dean, I can't. I just _can't_."

"You don't have to," Dean took a calming breath and released his breather, watching him warily. "We finish the job and get out of town. No need to see him, not if you don't want to."

"Not if I don't want to," Sam repeated. He looked at Dean with sudden suspicion. "Did you ask Bobby to send him?"

"Hell, no!" Dean said emphatically. "I know how you feel about him."

"How _I_ feel. How do _you_ feel?"

Dean's eyes flicked away. He didn't answer.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Sam said bitterly.

"Sam, that's not impor –"

"You think I don't notice how often you pick up the phone and _don't_ call anyone? If it weren't for me, you'd be hunting with him."

"I made my choice," Dean defended himself. "I'm good with it."

"But you still miss him," Sam accused.

"He's our _father_! Sure, he screwed up, but he –"

"Screwed up? Screwed _up_? Jess –"

"Sam, Dad didn't kill Jess!"

"No," Sam flared. "He just said it was my fault."

The silence was thick.

Dean looked away. "You know he's sorry, Sammy," he said at last. "He feels like shit about that."

"Good for him," Sam said sarcastically. "Give the man a freaking medal. He _feels_ bad."

Starting to feel a little pissy himself, Dean snapped, "Listen, don't take his shit out on me, Sammy!"

They glared at each other for a minute, then Sam turned away and opened the door again.

"Sammy, where the hell are you going? We're on a _job_ here!"

"I'll be back in a couple of hours," Sam threw back over his shoulder. "Enjoy the Magic Fucking Fingers!"

ΩΩΩ


	8. Chapter 8

ΩΩΩ

The Impala was silent.

No radio, no careless jibber jabber. Just the sounds of silence and the screaming in Sam's head.

 _That demon came for you. Your mother died because of you. And that girl - if you hadn't left us to go to college, maybe she'd still be alive!_

Bastard.

I don't need Dad to tell me Mom's dead because of me. And Jess. I don't need him for anything!

He felt Dean's eyes on him, and glanced sideways at him.

"You okay, Sammy?" His brother's tone was light, but his eyes were worried.

Sam sent his gaze out the window into the night, with no reply to the question but a quick nod.

Dean sighed. He didn't want to push it. This was the first time he and Sam had spoken since their argument earlier in the day, and the last thing he wanted was another bullshit free-for-all, but – damn it, this _had_ to be said. With a quick look at the distant headlights behind them, he pulled the Impala quickly over to the side of the road and turned to face Sam.

"Listen," he said directly, "I'm not trying to be a dick. I got faith in you. Always have, always will. But if you go into this with your head screwed up 'cause of Dad, you're gonna get yourself killed."

"Dean, I'm _fine_ –" Sam stumbled to a halt, hearing the lie in his voice. After a short, internal struggle, he nodded.

"We kill this thing. Then, if you want, we can talk." Dean shrugged. "Or not. Let's just gank this bastard, so no more kids have to die. Okay?"

Feeling something ease inside him ease a bit, Sam offered his brother a tentative smile and an olive branch. "Want some music?"

"Oh, hell, yeah." Relieved, Dean punched in a cassette and grinned when Bob Seger's 'Katmandu' blasted out of the speakers. " _Awesome_."

The tension in Sam's gut loosened another notch and his smile deepened. "Thanks, Dean."

ΩΩΩ

"Holy crap! How the hell are we supposed to even _find_ that thing in here?" Dean was aghast. "This stadium is freaking _huge_! It's got, what, six levels? It'll take all night! And he might not even be here!"

"It is what it is." Sam's shrug was philosophical. "We'll just have to split up. People start showing up around five a.m., so we have 'til then."

Dean wanted to object, but he knew his brother was right. "Shit," he grumbled. "Just be careful, okay?"

Sammy flipped him off. "Chill, Dean. I know how to do my job." He pulled out his EMF meter and nodded toward a nearby corridor. "I'll take that one."

"Fine." Dean blew out an unhappy breath. "We'll meet in the middle, then move up to clear the next level."

With a short nod, Sam strode quickly away and out of sight, dark head bent over his meter.

Dean pulled out his own EMF. When he turned it on, it instantly started to shriek and there was a faint answering cry behind him.

The hunger spun around and his green eyes widened.

"Oh, you _fucker_!"

ΩΩΩ


	9. Chapter 9

Sam hadn't gone far when he heard the first shotgun blast.

Cursing, he started running and came back around the corner just in time to see Dean fire the second barrel into _El Cucuy_.

The tall, caped figure ignored the blast. With a deep growl, it snatched the shotgun away from Dean, then grabbed him up and flung him into the air. He hit a wall with a resounding thud and fell to the floor, arm twisted unnaturally beneath him.

Lips peeled back from his teeth in a silent snarl, Sam pulled out his machete and ran toward _El Cucuy_ , who was crouching over his unconscious brother. The cape had slipped back and its head revealed, bulbous and spongy-looking.

Before the thing even knew he was there, Sam was on him, gleaming blade swinging to sever the monster's head and sending it bouncing down the corridor.

Kicking the monster's corpse aside, Sam knelt beside his brother; checked for and found a pulse. "Dean?"

Suddenly, beneath the frantic pounding of his heart, Sam heard a soft footfall behind him.

Jerking the pistol from his belt, he twisted around, ready to fire.

ΩΩΩ

John Winchester tried a smile. "Hey, Sammy. You mind putting away that gun?"

Sam stared at his father for a long moment. He shoved the gun back into his belt. "We – _I_ don't want you here." He bent back down beside his brother, surprised but thankful when he heard his father's footsteps retreating.

The lump on the side of Dean's head didn't look too bad, but he was going to have one hell of a headache when he woke up. And probably a concussion. The arm, that was broken, no question. Which meant a hospital.

He heard a soft whimper and Sam rose again to see his father, arms full of a doe-eyed, dark-haired child, coming toward him.

" _El Cucuy_ must have brought her here," John said in answer to Sam's wide-eyed astonishment. "She seems okay." He jerked his chin toward Dean. "How is he?"

"Broken arm," Sam answered shortly. "Probably a concussion." He bent and gently tapped Dean's cheek. "Hey. Dean. Up and at 'em."

When Dean didn't respond, John nudged his fallen son's hip gently with his boot, ignoring Sam's glare. "Dean. Wake up, son."

"Dad?" Dean's eyelids fluttered open. Eyes struggling to focus, he tried to sit up, then sank back with a low, pained moan.

"Don't move, Dean," John cautioned. He absently patted the girl's back when she started to whimper. "Your arm's broken."

"It's okay, Dean," Sam said reassuringly. "Monster's dead and we've got the girl. We'll get the arm set, get some good drugs into you."

Dean nodded slightly, wincing slightly at the pain in his head. "'Kay." He looked blearily at his father. "Hey, Dad."

"Son." John smiled, then looked at Sam. "How can I –"

"If you really want to help, get the kid to the hospital." Sam gave a terse nod to _El Cucuy's_ corpse. "And –"

"Take out the trash?" His father smirked. "No problem. Good job on the douche bag, by the way."

Rubbing slow circles on the now dozing child's back, John watched as Sam got his brother slowly to his feet. Stopping first to retrieve their shotguns, he half-supported, half-carried an unsteady Dean down the corridor,

As his sons disappeared around the corner, John called softly, "I'll be by later, boys."

ΩΩΩ

Next chapter will be up Wednesday. Need the next day or so to polish the next chapter of My Boys Redux. Later.


	10. Chapter 10

Force of habit made Sam check the peephole before opening the door, though he knew damned well who it was.

Briefly considering ignoring their visitor, he looked over at Dean who lay asleep on his bed, arm encased in white plaster.

John knocked again.

With a resigned sigh, Sam let their father in.

Nodding awkwardly to his youngest, John crossed the room and stood over Dean's bed. "Bad break?" He ran gentle fingers over the cast.

"Could've been worse," Sam answered grudgingly. "Doc said to keep it on for six weeks."

John gave Sam a half-smile. "Bet you he's got it off in four." He nodded at the colorful bruise decorating Dean's forehead. "Concussion?"

"Yeah."

John pulled a chair over next to the bed and sat down.

Sam forced back the over-the-top rage he felt at the casual way John was making himself at home. Gritting his teeth, he went to the window and looked out into the parking lot. John's big truck was parked beside the Impala.

His father, noting the piles of folded clothing and the half-full duffel on the other bed, said inquiringly. "Getting ready to pull out?"

Sam didn't answer. Or turn around. "Why are you here?"

"Looking for you, Sam," John said steadily.

"Why?" Sam's voice was almost a growl.

John looked down at his big hands, then at Dean, as if searching for an answer. When he finally looked back up at Sam's stiff back, he said simply, "I want you boys to come home, to the States." Taking a deep breath, he clarified: "I want you to hunt with me again."

Sam turned, staring disbelievingly at his father. It took him a moment to find his voice. "Are you kidding me?"

"Sam –"

"Are you _kidding_ me?"

"Sam, we need to talk about this." John stayed calm. "Things have changed, things you don't know about – "

"I can't believe you." Sam's laugh was exquisitely bitter. "Shit, the _balls_ on you!"


	11. Chapter 11

Dean stirred, muttering something querulous, and the two men paused, looking over at him.

When Dean had settled back into sleep, John said softly, "I said some things I didn't mean, Sam."

"Like it was my fault Mom died?" Sam said acidly. "And Jess?"

John reddened.

"You're sorry you said it, Dad. Doesn't mean you didn't mean it. Doesn't mean you don't still think it."

" _No_." John shook his head. "Me saying that, that was crap. I'm sorry."

"You're _always_ sorry." Sam's voice rose. "Then the next time I piss you off, the next time you get _drunk_ , it's the same shit all over again."

Dean stirred again. This time, neither man noticed.

'I've got a lot to make up for," John admitted. "If you'd just give me a chance –"

"No!" Sam glared at him. "You - _damn it_! I'm not getting sucked into your shit again!" He spun away from his father and strode quickly to the door, only to stall there, unwilling to leave his brother.

John stood and took a couple of steps after him, but stopped at Sam's warning glower. They two stared at each other; Sam thrumming with angry tension, John with no clue what to say to his son.

"Sammy," Dean's voice was a faint croak. "What – what's going on?"

Passing John with a hard look, Sam went swiftly back to the bed. "Sorry we woke you, man." He tested his brother's forehead for fever, found none. "How do you feel?"

"Crappy," Dean shifted, winced. "With a side order of shitty."

Sam looked at his watch. Deciding enough time had passed for the next set of meds, he got them down Dean with a minimum of fuss, along with some bottled water.

John came, a little hesitantly, to the other side of the bed. "Dean."

"Dad!" Dean looked at Sam and saw trouble in the now impassive expression on his brother's face. "What are you – is everything okay?"

"It's fine." John looked to Sam for confirmation, but was studiously ignored. Sighing, he clasped Dean's shoulder. "It's good to see you, son."

Vaguely remembering what had gone down earlier that night. Dean said slowly, "You were at the stadium."

"I heard about the kids disappearing. Came to check it out." John smiled ruefully. "I was too late. Your brother kicked _El Cucuy's_ ass."

"Course he did. He's –" Dean's reply was interrupted by a huge yawn and a slight shiver. "Sorry."

"You need some more sleep, bro. You guys can talk tomorrow." Sam pulled a blanket from the other bed and spread it gently over his brother. "Better?"

"Thanks." Feeling drowsier by the second, Dean murmured, "Sammy?"

Sam's eyes flicked over to John, then back to his brother. "We're okay," he said reassuringly. "You just get some sleep."

Nowhere near convinced, but too tired to deal with it now, Dean closed his eyes and fell back asleep almost immediately.

ΩΩΩ


	12. Chapter 12

Dean opened his eyes and blinked up at the badly flaking ceiling.

At that slightest of movements, Sam appeared beside him with a bottle of water.

"Thirsty?"

With a yawn, Dean sat up, wincing as the movement jarred his casted arm, and took the bottle, half draining it in one grateful go. Stretching, he rolled his neck. "Man, I'd kill for some coffee," he groaned.

"I'll go out and get some in a couple minutes." Sam raised the bottle of prescription pain killers and rattled it inquiringly.

Dean checked in on his body's various aches and pains and decided they didn't suck too much. "I'll stick to aspirin for now."

Sam dug the aspirin out of a duffle and handed him a couple. Dean downed them with the last of the water and then, moving slowly, swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood.

"Okay?"

"I've had worse." Dean looked at his cast and grimaced. "Shit. How long do I have to keep _this_ thing on?"

"Doc said six weeks."

"Screw the doc," Dean snorted. "Five. Maybe four."

Sam smiled involuntarily. Dad had sure called that one. He knew his son. The older one, at least.

"Dad still around?" Dean's tone was casual. Very.

Sam gestured silently to the bathroom; the sound of the shower was audible through the closed door.

Giving his brother's shoulder a brief squeeze, Dean crossed to the door and knocked. "Hey, old man, you almost done in there? I need to pee!"

"So, pee!" John bellowed back. "What, you're shy now?"

"No, I just don't want to give you an inferiority complex!" Dean shot back.

John laughed. The sound of water stopped, and they could hear the jangle of the shower curtain being pulled back.

Sam's lips tightened at the easy camaraderie between the two. Turning away from Dean, he went to the dresser and picked up his wallet, then shrugged into his jacket.

"I'll go get breakfast."

Surprised, Dean said, "Why don't you wait, we can –"

"I put a plastic bag in the bathroom earlier," Sam said matter-of-factly. "If you shower, wrap it around your cast so you don't get it wet."

Dean caught him at the door, and grasped his arm. Sam pulled away. "Doesn't matter to you, does it, what he did? You still want –" Stopping with difficulty, Sam lowered his head and took a calming breath. When he spoke again, his voice was steady. "I'll be back soon."

Dean stared at him for a long moment. "You better be," he said finally. "Don't make me hunt your dumb ass down."

The bathroom door opened. John stepped out, rubbing a towel through his wet hair.

"I'll be back," Sam repeated, and then he was out the door, closing it quietly behind him.

ΩΩΩ


	13. Chapter 13

ΩΩΩ

It was early, about seven a.m., but Sam found a small café serving breakfast a couple blocks from the motel.

He gave his order to the smiling, middle-aged waitress and, while he waited for their food, paced nervously back and forth on the sidewalk in front of the cafe.

The headache he'd been nursing since last night had flared up into a sharp pain behind the eyes and he dug out several aspirin, dry-swallowing them as he waited.

He was so _screwed_.

It had seemed simple before John showed up. He'd known that Dean was missing their father, had been for a while. But with John not around, it had seemed possible that Dean would – well, not forget, but, what - adjust?

But now - Dean had been so _happy_ to see John. And Sam knew, no matter what Dean said to contrary, in his heart of hearts, he wanted their father back.

" _Senor_?"

Startled, he jerked around, hand reaching for the gun under his jacket.

" _Siento_ , _senor_." The waitress clutched the take-out bags to her ample bosom, squeaking with surprise. " _No digo que te sobresaltan."***_ She took a cautious step back.

Flushing, Sam mumbled an apology and took the bags from her, giving her a generous tip.

With a nod, he started back to the motel, mind still mulling over what waited back at the motel.

Was he supposed to just forget everything that had happened? Forget how John really felt about him? That's what his father and brother both seemed to want.

Could he do it? Could he swallow the rage that ate at him, the resentment. The hurt?

No. _No_.

But - for Dean?

After all, what had Dad done but tell him the truth?

Mom _would_ still be alive if not for him. Jess wouldn't be dead if he'd stayed away from Stanford.

He should be grateful to his father for opening his eyes to the truth about himself, right?

When pigs fly, Sam thought bitterly.

Something tickled at the back of his neck and a faint uneasiness twisted in his gut.

Keeping his stride steady, he cast a casual look around, seeing nothing but a few casual passers-by, a storekeeper sweeping the sidewalk in front of his store, a scrawny dog attending to its business in a nearby alley.

The tingle faded, disappeared.

Sam continued on to the motel, uncertain if he'd felt anything at all.

ΩΩΩ

*** In a nutshell, the waitress is apologizing for startling Sam. I have no Spanish to speak of, so I rely on a translator app. If anyone has input on how it should be written, let me know. Thanks!


	14. Chapter 14

When Sam opened the door to the motel room, he stopped dead at the sight of the wide grin on Dean's face. "What?"

Dean took the food from him and dragged him into the room, dropping the bags onto the table. "Dad's got great news!" He looked at John expectantly.

"Sam." Looking uncomfortable, John cleared his throat. "I, uh, should've told you this last night but I got kind of sidetracked."

Sam eyed him suspiciously. "Should've told me what?"

"The FBI has new evidence in your case. Turns out the last victim liked to film herself having sex. She used a hidden camera in the bedroom. When they found the camera, it had footage of her with someone the night she died. Someone _not_ you."

Sam was speechless. Finally, he asked, "Do they know who it was?"

"Yeah, they know." John fell silent and looked sideways at Dean, who sobered.

"Sammy, didn't you have a friend at Stanford named Brady?" Dean asked.

"Yeah." Sam frowned, confused at the sudden change in subject. "He introduced me to Jess, sophomore year. Why are you –?" He paled. "Are you saying _Brady_. . .?"

"I don't think it was Brady, Sam," John said quietly. "I have a contact inside the FBI. He told me they found sulphur in the girl's apartment."

Sam stared at him, wide-eyed with shock and horror, then wheeled away from them, shoulders bunching as he grabbed hard onto the back of a handy chair. Struggling to keep control, he said in a choked voice, "Brady was _possessed_?"

Dean took a tentative step forward. "I'm sorry, Sam. I am. But don't you see? You're off the hook!"

"Yeah, and Brady's _on_ it," Sam's grip on the chair made it creak. He bit his lip. _Brady_. Out there on his own with a demon riding him. Or dead. Tears pricked the back of his eyes.

The room was silent. After a moment, Dean came close and put his arm around Sam's shoulders, ignoring it when his brother tried to shrug him off.

"I'm sorry, Sammy."

"Sure," Sam said hoarsely. Pulling away from Dean, he took three long steps and disappeared into the bathroom, door slamming behind him.

"Shit," Dean said feelingly. He sat down at the table, resting his head in his hands. " _Shit_!"

John stared at the bathroom door. Then, thinking, he started setting their rapidly cooling breakfast out onto the table.

There was a lot of bad between him and Sam. Most of it was John's fault, and he knew there was no way his son was letting him back into his life - at least, not right now.

That hurt, but if John had to be freaking honest, he deserved it. He'd been a son of a bitch, and that was putting it mildly.

There might not be a chance in hell of fixing this latest shit storm. It might be _way_ too fucking late. But if it would help Sam, he was sure as hell going to try.

John was a quick study. By the time he had everything out of bags and onto plates, he pretty much knew what he had to do.

"Dean," John said.

Dean didn't move.

" _Dean_."

Dean finally looked at him.

"Eat, son."

"Dad . . ."

"Eat. And listen," John said firmly. "I have a plan."

ΩΩΩΩΩΩ

Two chapters in one day!


	15. Chapter 15

When Sam came out of the bathroom, his eyes were red-rimmed, but dry.

The outer room was empty, a half-empty coffee cup on the table, and the remains of breakfast in the trash. A hollow feeling in his chest, he looked out the window, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw that the Impala was still there, though his father's truck was gone.

Feeling a little unsteady from his recent emotional storm, he walked over to the bed and lay down, and soon fell into a light doze.

He woke to the sound of the door opening.

"Wakey, wakey, eggs and baccy, Sammy!"

Carrying a bag which looked like a duplicate of the one Sam had brought earlier, Dean explained cheerfully, "Me and Dad finished everything off, so I went out for more." He went to the bed and offered his groggy brother a steaming cup of coffee.

Sitting up, Sam accepted it gratefully and took a sip, feeling the cobwebs start to clear. Trying to keep his voice level, he asked, "Where's Dad?"

"Gone!" Dean finished emptying out the bag onto the table and dropped onto a chair. Co-opting the bacon, he chewed a piece happily. "Dude, you better get over here or this bacon is toast." He snickered.

Sam didn't answer, and Dean looked over to see his brother staring at him silently, coffee forgotten in his hand. He sighed. "It's okay, Sam. You're not ready. Dad doesn't want to push it. Nothing happens until you're ready. And that's _if_."

Sam dropped his gaze to the cup and took another sip, feeling relieved, but more than a little guilty.

Dean dropped into a chair and hooked another piece of bacon. "What's with the poop face?"

"It's just –" Sam flushed miserably. "I know you miss him."

"Missed you more." Exasperated, Dean rolled his eyes and waved another piece of bacon in the air before stuffing it into his mouth. "Dude!"

A smile starting on his face, Sam came over and started in on the scrambled eggs, magnanimously shoving the rest of the bacon across to his brother.

They were quiet for a few minutes; Sam finding his appetite once he started eating; Dean watching his brother, trying to find the right moment to tell him what their Dad was going to do.

 _Fuck it._

"Sammy, Dad's gone to find Brady."

ΩΩΩ


	16. Chapter 16

Sam's fork froze halfway to his mouth and he looked at his brother in shocked astonishment.

"It may be too late, Sam," Dean cautioned him. "Cops might have him by the time Dad gets there. Or he might already be dead."

Sam dropped his fork and rose to his feet, flushed with excitement. "We should go, too, we can help. Shit, I should've thought of that! It might not be too late, Brady might –"

Dean got to his feet. "We can't go, Sammy. Not yet."

"What? Why the hell not?" Sam scowled. "Is that what Dad said? Screw that, I –"

Dean's scowl matched his. "Knock it off and fucking listen, will you? Everything Dad says isn't bullshit."

Sam sat back down, clearly itching to give someone, _anyone_ , a good ass kicking.

Dean sat down, looking, Sam noticed suddenly, a little pale.

"Dean, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Dean answered irritably. "Little headache, that's all. No big deal."

"Well, yeah, a concussion doesn't go away after one night's sleep!" Sam snapped.

Furious with himself for not making sure his brother took it easy on himself today, Sam retrieved the bottle of aspirin and watched as Dean washed a few of them down.

Waving his hovering little brother back to his chair, Dean said, reluctantly, "I jumped a little fast before, saying you were off the hook for the murders. The feds think Brady's killed that one girl in the tape, but they don't know if you were in on it or not, or if you had anything to do with the other deaths. Dad says they're kinda stuck on all the girls dying the way Mom did."

Sam's eyes darkened, and Dean hurried on. "Plus there's that cop you knocked on his ass."

"Guy was an asshole," Sam muttered resentfully.

"It's still enough to get you jailed. You want that?"

Sam was silent.

"Okay, then. When Dad gets a firm lead on Brady, he's gonna let us know. If we're lucky, if _Brady's_ lucky, we can exorcise the demon and get your friend back. If he's not – well, then we'll kill the demon." He shrugged apologetically. "That's something."

"If we do rescue Brady, he's looking at prison, or the nuthouse," Sam said. "Possession's not a defense that'll get him anything but locked up."

It was Dean's turn to be silent.

"He was my first friend at Stanford, my _best_ friend. If I wasn't with Jess, I was hanging with him. He was a good guy." Sam traced a tight little pattern on the table, thinking back.

"He went off the rails our junior year. Started drinking, doing drugs. We all thought something must've happened on Christmas break, but he wasn't talking. That must have been when the demon took him." His face flushed suddenly, and he slammed a hand down on the table. "Damn it! I should've _known_."

Dean reached across the table and gripped his brother's hand. "Bullshit," he said succinctly. "Don't take that on. No way you could've known."

After a minute, Sam nodded and let out a shaky breath. "Okay. So we wait. What are we supposed to do in the meantime? Just hang out here?"

Dean released him, pointed at Sam's plate. "Well, first you're gonna finish your damned eggs."

Sam made a face, but gave in at Dean's glare and picked up his fork.

Satisfied, Dean watched his brother eat. "I thought we'd head up to Tepoztlan," he said, waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Sam folded the last of his eggs in between a couple pieces of toast. "Why a hot chick like Elena wastes her time on you . . ."

Dean ignored that. "You can spend some time on that pyramid. Maybe even make it over to Xochicalco. Geek boy. _Or_ you could go sweet talk Lucy," he added, _very_ casually. "I'm pretty sure Elena said she's still working at that little cantina."

Sam met Dean's eyes, briefly. Then he swallowed the last of his sandwich and got up. "I want to take some pictures of the pyramid this time, so I'll need to pick up some film before we leave town." He looked pointedly at Dean's cast. "Rest up while I get our stuff together. Oh, and _I'm_ driving."


	17. Chapter 17

Sam scooped up a few rolls of film for his camera from the shelf, then headed toward the small store's check-out counter.

Waiting his turn, he picked up a few bags of candy from one of the counter displays. Then, thinking of Dean waiting in the car, snagged a couple bottles of aspirin. Having a little extra on hand never hurt, not the way they went through them.

A familiar itch at the back of his neck had him freezing in place. After a moment, he turned, slowly, casually, to scan the store.

Toward the back, an older woman perused the adult diapers. In the candy aisle, a trio of young boys trying to decide how to spend their spare change. In the next aisle over, a tired-looking young man picking through the scanty selection of baby food.

None of them seemed to be paying any attention to Sam at all.

Turning back to the counter, he looked through the plate window behind the check-out clerk, who was chattering animatedly to the customer in front of him.

The window looked out onto the street where he'd left the Impala, which he could see parked halfway down on the other side. There was a lot of activity - cars, pedestrians, bicycles - but he couldn't see anything suspicious.

Didn't matter. Somewhere close, something, some _one_ , was watching him.

" _Senor_?"

Startled, he looked at the clerk.

The customer in front of him had gathered up her shopping bags and was leaving the store, two small children trailing behind her.

The clerk, a pretty, dark-haired girl, gave him a smile and an appreciative once-over. " _Puedo ayudarlo*_?"

Embarrassed, he piled his purchases on the counter. "Sorry," he said gruffly.

She dimpled at him. "No problem."

Sam's answering smile was perfunctory, looking beyond her to scan the street again.

Getting the message, she gave a philosophical shrug, and rang him up quickly, popping his purchases into a paper bag.

With a nod of thanks, he paid her and left the store, the girl's eyes staying on him until he vanished from sight.

ΩΩΩ

Sam tossed the bag into the backseat and slipped into the driver's seat, hurriedly jerking on his seat belt.

"What's wrong?" Dean asked, looking around.

"It's just as well we're leaving." Sam started the Impala and steered her out into the steady stream of traffic.

"You see something?"

Sam was silent. "Felt something," he said at last, reluctantly.

"Like before? With the bounty hunter?"

Sam nodded, braking slightly as the traffic in front of them slowed.

"Can't be the same guy. No way the police chief kicked him loose already." Dean smirked. "He'll be lucky to get out at all."

"Don't know who it was," Sam said shortly. "Felt it this morning when I was out getting breakfast. Didn't see anything then, either."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Sam ignored the accusatory tone. "There was other stuff going on."

Dean had to give him that, but he didn't like it. Twice in one day? There was _something_ out there, sure as hell.

Couldn't be the bounty hunter, and he doubted the ass hat's employers had any clue their man was out of commission; for now, at least.

Dean flicked a worried glance into the rear view mirror.

Sam was right. It was just as well they were getting out of town.

ΩΩΩ

* May I help you?


	18. Chapter 18

Dean held out the fragrant bouquet of sunflowers and smiled. "Hola, _carina_."

"Dean!" Beaming, Elena accepted the flowers. She started to hug him, then saw the cast, half hidden by his jacket, and stopped short, aghast.

" _Mi amor!_ What _happened_ to you?"

"Ah, it's no big deal." Dean pulled her in close and gave her a hug, cast, flowers, and all. "The day I can't hug you is the day they put me in the ground." He kissed her.

" _Hablador dulce._ * _"_ Elena murmured indulgently. "Come in, _querido._ I'll take care of you." Spotting Sam, who was hanging back at the car, she called, "Sam, what are you waiting for? Come in!"

Cooing happily over the flowers, she led them into the house. It was small, just four rooms, but full of light, and color, Elena's love for sunflowers evidenced by the huge painting of the blooms hanging behind the comfortable couch.

She took them straight through to the kitchen and, after settling them both at the table, put the flowers into a vase and set it onto a sun-filled window sill. caressing the petals lightly.

"I have some paella," she said cheerfully, "Are you hungry?"

"Starved!" Dean said happily.

"Good." Elena pulled a pot out of the refrigerator and set it on the stove, turning on the gas flame. "It won't take long to warm it. Ah!" She opened a cupboard and took out a bottle. "Tequila?"

" _Si_!" Dean beamed.

Elena raised an inquiring eyebrow at Sam, who shook his head, with murmured thanks.

When she set the bottle in front of Dean, along with a shot glass, he started to pick it up, but she pushed his hand away and poured it herself. "No, no, let me, _querido_. You musn't strain yourself."

Sam rolled his eyes. Dean pretended not to see.

A phone rang in the other room as she set the glass in front of Dean, and she clucked in annoyance. "I'll be right back. It's probably Lucy." She smiled at Sam. "She'll be so happy to see you!"

Bustling out of the kitchen, she missed the dark expression on Sam's face. Dean didn't.

Sam got up from the table. "I'm going out, give you guys some alone time."

"You sure that's a good idea?" Dean's brow furrowed. "Why don't you stay here, have something to eat?"

Sam bristled. "What, you think I can't take care of myself?"

"Hey, _you're_ the one said someone's following us," Dean pointed out.

"I'm just going down to the _Tortuga._ I'll get something to eat there. I'll be fine."

"The _Tortuga_?" Dean chuckled. "Hell, I should've known. All that 'I'm not into her' bullshit, and the first thing you do when we hit town is head straight for her!"

"Damn it, Dean, I just want something to eat and the Tortuga's the only place around!"

"Yeah, sure –"

"Look," Sam snapped, "the last thing I wanna do is get someone else killed. I'm not getting together with Lucy! I'm just not in the mood to watch you two play happy freaking families!"

Dean started to snap back, then stopped, trying to hold onto his temper. "Jesus, sometimes talking to you is like walking through a fucking minefield!"

Sam scowled, then huffed out a breath and shrugged, a little shame-faced. "Sorry."

Mollified, Dean nodded. "Why don't you wait a minute? We can all go –"

" _Dean_." Sam gave his brother a massive, put-upon sigh. "I'll be _fine_."

Dean struggled with it for a moment, then surrendered. "Okay. Just be careful. Okay, bitch?"

"Yeah, sure." Sam took the car keys out of his pocket. "Jerk."

ΩΩΩ

* Sweet talker.


	19. Chapter 19

Lucy slapped the tourist smartly on the side of the head.

"Hands off, _pendejo_!"

Spectacularly drunk, the man howled with laughter. His friends, equally sloshed, applauded.

Resisting the urge to slam her empty tray down on the idiot's head, Lucy turned away and scanned the rest of her tables. Seeing Fausto at the other end of the room, waving and pointing exaggeratedly at his glass, she nodded and wove expertly through the crowd toward the bar.

On her way back to Fausto's table a minute later, she glanced toward the front door when it opened and stopped in her tracks with a startled gasp, for in the doorway stood six feet four inches of irrefutable proof that there was a God.

 _Sam Winchester._

Lucy gazed hungrily at Sam as he came into the bar, her eyes raking over the broad shoulders tapering down to a slim waist, the long legs, the strong thighs - the ass that made her want to _weep_. . .

"Lucy!"

She ignored the call. Focused instead on Sam's big hands. _Madre_ _de Dios_ , those _hands_. She felt dizzy, thinking of them on her.

Lastly, lovingly, her gaze moved to his face. An angel's face. Handsome, strong and gentle, dark eyes filled with a sadness that made her ache to comfort him. She swayed longingly in his direction.

"Lucy! Tequila!"

Jerked out of her heavenly contemplation, Lucy stalked over to Fausto's table, one eye keeping track of Sam as he sat down - at one of her tables, thank you, God! Scowling, she slammed Fausto's drink down onto his table and liquor splashed onto him, drawing a curse from the man.

"If you value your pathetic, _tiny_ balls -" she hissed warningly.

"Well, maybe if you weren't so busy drooling over -" Fausto halted, remembering to whom he was speaking and that he did indeed value his pathetic, tiny balls. He tried an apologetic grimace. "Sorry, Lucy."

" _Bueno_ ," Lucy said, teeth clenched. "Do you need anything else?"

ΩΩΩ

Sam smiled up at her. "Hey, Luce."

"Sam! So good to see you!" Lucy's smile was warm, a far cry from the basilisk glare she'd just leveled at Fausto.

"How've you been?"

"Oh, fine." She glanced around the crowded, smoke-filled room and shrugged. "Nothing ever changes here. Where's your brother? Oh, wait, why am I asking? He's with Elena, _si_?"

At Sam's nod, she said cheerfully, "So, what can I get you?"

"Tequila, please. And make it a double."

Lucy hid her surprise with an easy smile. "Sure. Anything to eat? We have a new cook. He's not half-bad." She chuckled. "At least, he hasn't killed anyone yet!"

Sam shook his head. "No, thanks. Maybe later."

"Okay, be right back." She headed back to the bar, face serene, but worry nibbling away at her.

Her Sam didn't usually drink the hard stuff. At least, he hadn't when he was here before. He'd stuck with beer, and not a lot of that.

 _Pobrecito_.

The look in his eyes said he was probably thinking of the dead gringa. Lucy sighed, biting her lip. How was she supposed to compete with a dead woman?

Ah, well, let it be for now. She'd learned her lesson. She wouldn't push. Take it slow, let him come to her.

Lucy lips curved in a soft smile.

Where Sam Winchester was concerned, she could have all the patience in the world.

ΩΩΩ


	20. Chapter 20

Sam threw back the shot of tequila and shuddered as its warmth worked through him. He toyed for a moment with catching Lucy's eye and getting another, but decided to hold off for a few minutes. Not crashing the Impala on the way back to Elena's house at the end of the night would be a good thing.

With a sigh, he fiddled with the glass, swirling the last drops in its square bottom.

It was official. He was an idiot.

An idiot to have left Dean and the relative safety of Elena's house when he knew damned well that someone was on his trail. _Definitely_ an idiot to have come to the Tortuga when he'd known that Lucy would be here.

Lucy was a complication he didn't need right now. He knew how she felt. And damn it, Sam knew how _he_ felt, too, no matter what bullshit he'd been feeding Dean. The strong spark of attraction between them had been there from the beginning, but _she'd_ been the only one with the guts to admit it.

Sam sighed. He wanted her. He should at least admit that himself, if not to Dean, or Lucy.

Lucy was – she wasn't in the least like Jess, but she was _beautiful_. Tall and slender. Jet black hair, cut short, framing a heart-shaped face. Large black eyes snapping and sparkling with humor and life.

More than that, she had an inner toughness and a corresponding physical strength that appealed to him. He'd seen her frog march more than one obstreperous drunk out of the Tortuga, bouncer be damned.

He watched as Lucy worked - smiling, flirting, cutting off the occasional flirtatious advance - and a fierce wave of longing swept over him.

He had to get out of here. Just one more drink, then by the time he got home, Dean and Elena would be tucked away in her room and he could -

"Sam?"

Lucy stood next to his table, carrying a bowl of stew, a look of uncertainty on her face.

"I know you didn't want, but – well, I thought you looked hungry." She placed the bowl in front of him, along with a spoon.

He just looked at her. With a hesitancy he'd never seen in her before, she said, "I hope that's okay?"

Something in Sam settled.

Picking up the spoon, he said quietly, "That's perfect, Luce. Thank you."

ΩΩΩ


	21. Chapter 21

Humming happily, Elena swayed back into the room, stopping short at the sight of Sam's empty chair.

"Where's Sam?"

"He wanted to give us some time alone." Dean grinned wickedly, and crooked his finger at her. "Come over here, _chica_."

Lips curved in an equally wicked smile, Elena obeyed, and Dean pulled her onto his lap. His hands deftly unbuttoned her blouse, slipped inside and caressed her warmth.

Murmuring with pleasure, she ran a trail of soft kisses over his face. "How long will he be gone?"

Dean took her lips in a long kiss before answering. "Couple hours." He pushed his hands through her thick, dark hair, and rubbed his cheek against it.

"Good." Elena rubbed up against him, gave a little gasp when his teeth grazed the side of her neck. "I – I'll just tell him when he – when he comes back."

"Tell him what?" Dean murmured, nibbling her ear,

Elena shuddered, and closed her eyes. "About – about the man."

Dean stilled. After a moment, he pulled back from her, ignoring her whimper of protest. "What man, Elena?"

"I don't know." She shrugged, eyes cloudy with passion. "A man."

Dean took her by the shoulders. "Elena, _what man_?"

'Dean, I don't - he was at the Tortuga a few weeks ago. Lucy spoke to him. He said he was a friend of Sam's."

At Dean's grim expression, Elena said in dismay, "He's _not_ a friend?"

"What did Lucy tell him?"

"What?" Indignant, Elena slid off his lap and started to button her blouse. "Nothing! We don't talk about your business! Besides, there was nothing to tell. We didn't even know you were coming."

Standing, Dean pulled out his cell phone, punched in Sam's number and listened to it ring. When it went to voicemail, he cursed under his breath, disconnected, and tried again.

No answer.

"Elena, Sam's got the Impala." Dean's tone was urgent. "I need your car to get to the Tortuga."

"But my car is in the shop!" Frightened now, Elena's hand went out to him. "Dean, who is this man?"

ΩΩΩ

Lucy had been right about the stew. Sam _had_ needed it, and the second bowl she'd brought after he finished the first. It had been spicier than he usually liked, but not too bad. Dean, of course, would have said it needed more jalapenos, but Sam had always suspected that his brother was a bit of a masochist where peppers were concerned.

In any case, he was comfortably full now, and feeling more relaxed than he had in a long time. Pulling a small notepad out of his pocket, he scanned the notes he'd taken when he'd visited the pyramid last year, wondering if he could get out of taking Dean with him to the ruins of Xochicalcoon.

After all, the warning tickle he sometimes felt when someone was dogging him hadn't twigged since Mexico City. Whoever it was had probably lost their trail, and they'd have no way of knowing the Winchesters were coming here.

Sam hoped it would stay that way, because dragging Dean to Xochicalcoon was a recipe for disaster. Last time his brother spent most of the trip asking if it was time to leave yet.

The swish of a skirt announced Lucy's arrival. "The Orocos have a game going." She motioned toward a nearby table. "Manny wants to know if you want to play."

"Uh, yeah, sounds good." Sam raised a hand in response to Manny's friendly wave.

Lucy looked at his nearly empty glass. "I'll get you another beer."

"Thanks, Luce." He tucked away his notebook as she walked away and drained the rest of his beer, then looked up in surprise when the chair opposite him was pulled out abruptly and someone sat down.

Jimmy Hartwell gave Sam a hard smile and a brief glimpse of the gun he held ready inside his jacket.

"Surprise, asshole."

ΩΩΩ


	22. Chapter 22

"Surprised to see me?" Jimmy sneered triumphantly. "Bet you thought I was in the ground by now."

"Was hoping," Sam said with a cool smile, noting the raw cuts and colorful bruises on the man's face. "Give the cops the slip?"

Jimmy's answering grin was more of a snarl. "Funny thing about cops, Winchester. Turns out they bleed out just like everyone else."

"You _asshole_." Sam blanched. "You killed a _cop_?"

Jimmy shrugged. "Why not?"

"Guess the people you work for don't mind some collateral damage," Sam said, bitterly regretting they hadn't killed this creep instead of dumping him on the police.

"Not hardly." Jimmy was enjoying himself. "You remember the girl you killed in Oakland? Turns out her family is - well, they're _connected._ They're not gonna have any problem with me killing a cop, as long as it ends up with _them_ getting to have a talk with _you_."

The man shifted in his chair and shot a quick glance around the crowded room. "Whether you go dead or alive, that's kinda up to you. Alive is more money. But dead's fine, too. Easier." His eyes flicked around the room again. "Where's your brother?"

Sam's eyes narrowed. "Not here."

"Too bad." Jimmy's grin was unpleasant. "Guess we can have our little talk later. Come on." He jerked his head toward the door. "Time to go."

"I didn't kill that girl," Sam said abruptly.

"I don't give a shit. You're walking out with me. We're driving back over the border and I'm turning you over to my employers for a whole lotta money."

"Then what?"

"To you? I'm guessing it'll be long, painful and end up with you dead. Me, I'm gonna get drunk and laid."

"Hmm." Sam kept his voice calm. "Doesn't sound too good for me. Think I'll stay here instead."

"This gun says different."

"It's not the first time I've had a gun pointed at me," Sam pointed out. "It's not much of a threat."

"How about this? You do what I tell you, or I kill that pretty waitress."

ΩΩΩ

Sam's beer on her tray, Lucy started to head toward the Oroco's, then saw Sam was still at his own table, and a stranger was sitting with him.

Wait. Wasn't that the man who'd been asking about her Sam a few weeks ago?

Yes, it was.

Lucy's frown deepened into a scowl. She hadn't liked the man then. She liked him even less, now.

Noting the tense posture of both men, and the way the stranger kept one hand inside his jacket, an uneasy prickle shivered up her spine. She turned quickly back to the bar and put her tray down.

"Hand me that bottle of tequila, Mateo," she snapped at the bartender. " _Rapidamente_!"

Mateo started to ask why, then saw the look in her eyes and silently handed the bottle over.

ΩΩΩ

Sam's eyes felt red-hot. "You're _not_ hurting her," he spat. "Or anyone else."

"I'm not, huh?" Jimmy laughed contemptuously. "How you gonna stop me?"

Sam didn't answer, but at the look in his eyes, the bounty hunter's grin faded.

"Just you remember, Winchester," he said flatly. "You jump me, I kill you, and drag your corpse back to the States. Then I come back here and kill the girl. You want to take the chance I won't?"

Shaking with the desire to leap across the table and tear the slimy bastard's throat open, Sam clenched his fists and managed to rein in his temper. He could wait. It was a long drive. Somewhere between here and the border, this prick was going to wish he'd never even heard the name Winchester.

"We clear?" Jimmy demanded, half pulling the gun from under his jacket.

Sam nodded.

"Good." Jimmy got up. "Let's go. And keep your hands in sight. Once we're outta here, I'll be taking your gun."

Sam got up slowly, hands raised slightly.

There was a quick scuffling movement behind Jimmy and suddenly the man was falling to the floor, a surprised look on his face and the remains of a shattered tequila bottle in his hair.

Lucy casually bent over, picked up the gun from the floor and handed it to a slack-jawed Sam.

"What the hell?" Sam gasped. " _Lucy_?"

"What?" Lucy Cazador smiled. "I know a shithead when I see one."

ΩΩΩ


	23. Chapter 23

As Sam tucked the shithead's gun into his jacket pocket, a lot of startled faces looked their way; several men stood and took a few steps forward.

"Lucy?" Manny Oroco rumbled. "What's going on? You need some help?"

"Don't worry, I've got this," Lucy said, _sotto voce_ , to Sam.

Hands on hips, she faced the crowd and pointed to the unconscious form on the floor. "This _pig_ offered me money to sleep with him! _Me_!"

At the bar, Mateo blanched and crossed himself. More than one man in the crowd exclaimed at the stranger's audacity, and undeniable stupidity.

Lucy's eyes were narrow slits. "He's lucky I didn't rip off his dick and shove it down his throat!" She made a violent slashing motion.

The entire room flinched, including Sam, a good many men reaching down to protect their important bits.

The door of the bar slammed open and Dean burst in, Elena close behind.

"Holy crap!" Dean stared down incredulously at the unconscious man. "Is that – damn, good job, Sammy!"

Still a little stunned at what had happened, Sam said slowly, " _Lucy_ got him."

Elena beamed and rattled off a rapid-fire congratulation to her friend.

Dean's jaw dropped in astonishment, then he looked around the crowded room and back at his brother.

Sam read the question in his eyes easily.

 _What the hell do we do now?_

A thought came to Sam and he whispered into Lucy's ear.

"What?" Her eyes widened in outrage and she drew her foot back and kicked Jimmy hard in the ribs. "Bastard!"

The crowd murmured uneasily in protest, more of them coming to their feet, and Lucy glared at them. "This man killed a policeman!' she growled. "He was just boasting of it to Sam!"

There was an angry murmur from the crowd and they started to press forward.

"No, no!" Lucy motioned to a few, very large, men near the front. "Juan, Rick, Carlos! Take this filth out of here!" She nudged Jimmy contemptuously with her foot. "We'll show this asshole how we deal with cop killers in Tepoztlan!"

ΩΩΩ

Sam, Dean and Elena watched as Lucy supervised the removal of Jimmy 'Completely Screwed this Time' Hartwell from the bar, and then chivvied the rest of the patrons into going back to their drinking.

While she fearlessly shoved one particularly obnoxious group back to their table, Dean nudged Sam in amazement. "You're worried about protecting _her_?"

"She can hold her own against men. Against _men_." Sam looked meaningfully at Dean. "Besides, we need to split. Now. No way that creep's keeping his mouth shut about me."

"But you just _got_ here!" Elena protested, wrapping her arms around Dean's waist and looking up at him imploringly.

Having finished corralling her customers, Lucy had circled back to them, and caught the exchange.

"There's no need to leave." She raked a careless hand back through her dark hair. "Shithead's not talking to anyone."

"Why wouldn't he –" Dean stopped, seeing the answer in her eyes. "Oh, yeah?"

She shrugged.

"Lucy?"

"Quiet, Elena." Eying Sam, Lucy pulled a cigarette and lighter out of her skirt pocket and lit up. "The three men that took your friend out of here? They're the Rivera brothers." She sucked in a lungful of smoke, let it out. "There used to be four of them. The eldest, Diego, was a policeman. He was murdered by a drug cartel."

The Winchesters exchanged a glance.

"The Riveras can't take vengeance on the cartels without putting their families in danger," she explained. "So the shithead pays for Diego. He killed a cop, right? What's the problem?"

"No problem, Luce," Sam said, his eyes fixed on her. "We're just – reevaluating."

" _Dios mio_!" She rolled her eyes impatiently. "Are all American hunters so particular about who they kill?"

Dean choked. " _What_?"

ΩΩΩ


	24. Chapter 24

Lucy laughed out loud at the flummoxed expressions on the boys' faces.

"How the hell do you know about hunters?" Dean demanded.

Lucy gave a little shrug. "My father was a hunter."

"Was?" Sam asked.

Lucy made a quick, slicing motion across her throat. "Many years ago."

Putting aside his shock for now, Dean looked at Elena. He could tell from the bewilderment on her face that she had no idea what Lucy was talking about. And he damned well didn't _want_ her to know.

"I'm taking Elena home," he said gruffly to Sam. "You handle this."

Lucy cocked an eyebrow. " _Handle_?"

Dean didn't look at her. "Up to you how much you tell her."

Sam looked at Lucy. "We can drive up to Xochicalco, talk there."

After a moment, she nodded.

Dean took Elena's hand. "Let's you and me head home, sweetie." He looked sharply at Sam. "Oh, and we're taking the Impala. No way I'm getting back on that damned scooter."

Sam burst into laughter, knowing Dean meant the old scooter that Elena kept for her teenaged nephew's visits. When his brother glared at him, Sam managed to stop laughing long enough to ask Lucy if it was okay to use her car.

She nodded, lips twitching, clearly picturing Dean driving the aging scooter, Elena perched precariously behind him.

Dean gave Sam a very speaking look, then exited the bar, towing Elena beside him.

Mouth set, she let him take the lead, but once he had her settled in the front seat of the Impala, she snatched the keys away from him and smacked him on the arm.

"You _tell_ me what's happening, Dean Winchester! What was Lucy talking about? Why does it matter, that you hunt? And why are she and Sam going to Xochicalco?"

Dean stopped her questions with a kiss. She accepted the kiss, but after a minute, pushed him away.

"Answers, _mi amor_ ," she said firmly

Dean smoothed a curl back from her anxious face.

"Sam ran into trouble back in the States. Our dad is getting it straightened out, but – there's a reward out for him."

Understanding, she drew in a sharp breath. "That man . . ."

His lip curled. "Bounty hunter."

" _Dios_ ," she whispered. "But Lucy said you and Sam were hunters. Not. . .?"

"Not bounty hunters. Different kind of hunters. Can we leave it at that for now?" He ran a light finger over her lower lip. "Please?"

"Yes, but – why are Sam and Lucy going to -"

"What's going on with Sam and Lucy has got nothing to do with you and me, 'lena." He kissed the palm of her hand.

"Nooo," she admitted.

"Can we go back to your place now?"

"I suppose so."

Dean took her mouth in another, deeper, kiss. "You _suppose_ so?"

Elena threw her arms around him and buried her face in his neck. "Yes! Let's go home. But –"

"Let's just stick with yes, for now," Dean murmured.


	25. Chapter 25

Sam was not, repeat _not_ , going to have sex with Lucy.

Yes, she was beautiful. Smart, funny, and tough as hell. He'd never forget the sight of her standing over the prone body of the bounty hunter, hip shot and casual, like taking out an armed lunatic and saving Sam's _life_ , was simply part of her day.

He looked sideways at her, slouched down in the driver's seat of her ancient Morris Minor, one hand on the steering wheel, the other holding a cigarette.

She wasn't a civilian, she'd be more able than most people to defend herself against things supernatural. But – damn it, tough or not, daughter of a hunter or not, how many people could defend themselves against a demon?

"If you don't mind me asking," he asked tentatively, "What happened to your father?"

She was silent long enough he thought she wouldn't answer at all. "Vampire," she said finally.

"How old were you?"

"It was a long time ago." Another silence. "I was twelve," she admitted.

Sam grimaced. "That's when you found out about monsters?"

"I have always known." Her voice was curt.

"Luce, I'm sorry, you don't have to . . ."

"No." She blew out a frustrated breath. "I want to tell you. It's just – hard."

They drove in silence for a few more minutes. A soft rain began. She switched on the windshield wipers and turned on the high beams.

"We lived near the desert when I was young," she said. "For years, every few months, this _thing_ would come out of the desert and take one of us."

"One day, strangers came to our village." Lucy took out another cigarette, lit it from the butt of the old, then tossed the butt out the open window onto the road. "Hunters. They'd heard what was happening, and came to help us."

The turn-off sign for Xochicalco came up. She shifted down, took the turn and drove up the access road to the deserted parking lot. Pulling into a spot nearest the pyramid, she parked.

The two were silent for a time, staring up at the pyramid, a pale shadow against the night sky.

'The vampire did come back," she went on. "They killed it, but not before one more of us died. My sister."

Sam winced.

"That night, my father asked the hunters to teach him, so he could protect our village. Our family."

"A brave man."

"Yes." She blinked back her tears, cleared her throat. "He was guardian of our village for seven years before another vampire came out of the desert and killed him."

"I'm sorry, Lucy."

" _Gracias_ , Sam." She shifted in her seat to face him, ready, needing, to move on. "What about you?"

It would be an insult not to tell her, after all she'd shared with him. "My mother was killed by a demon when I was six months old. My dad raised us to hunt."

"Your father _raised_ you –" Her lips tightened. " _Loco bastardo_ ," she muttered.

"It's been said." Sam's lips quirked in a faint smile. "Dean and I – we never really knew anything else. I got out for a few years, went to college, but my girlfriend, Jess . . ."

Lucy nodded. "Elena told me. She died."

"The demon killed her," Sam said bluntly. "Just like he killed my mom."

Lucy sucked in a horrified breath. When Elena had told her that Sam's girl had died, she'd pictured something like a car crash, maybe cancer. But this. "But why? Why did it kill her? Why your mother?"

"I –" Sam hesitated. "We don't know."

Lucy scowled at him. "Sam! If you can't tell me, fine, but don't _lie_!"


	26. Chapter 26

"You're right." Sam dipped his head in acknowledgement. "I'm sorry."

When he didn't say anything more, she chuckled, temper restored. "So, why don't you want to sleep with me?"

That startled a laugh out of him. "Who says I don't?"

"Then, why won't you?"

"Because –" Sam was tempted to put her off with a joke, a half-truth. Instead, "Because I don't want your death on my conscience." He held her gaze.

"Oh, Sam." Amused, Lucy tossed her cigarette butt out into the rain. "You're a good man, a brave man. But you're also a great fool."

"What?"

"It's sad that your mother died. And your girl. It's very sad. For you, for them. _El Tragedia_! But does that mean you have to be alone for the rest of your life?"

"Lucy –"

"So, by loving you I could die?" She laughed scornfully. "I could have died as a child when that monster attacked our village! I could get hit by a truck tomorrow. Sickness could eat me, like my Aunt Solange. We all face death, every day. One step in the wrong direction, and _puf_!" She snapped her fingers. " _Muerte_! You can't stop living just because you're afraid of dying."

"I'm not afraid for me," Sam protested, flushing. "Don't you get it? The demon pinned my mother and Jess to the ceiling. He tore open their stomachs and burned them _alive_!"

Lucy flinched, not from that horrible image, but because of the agony on his face.

Sam's voice shook. "I see that every night, every time I close my eyes. I'm not adding you to that. I won't. I _can't_."

The two sat quietly, while she went through a couple more cigarettes. He took an occasional hit, a habit he'd picked up when they first came to Mexico. Dean had nagged him into giving it up, but some nights . . .

"My father died because of me," she said abruptly.

Startled, he half-turned on the seat to face her.

She didn't look at him, just dragged in another lungful of smoke. "I wanted my father to teach me to hunt. I was only twelve, and a girl. He refused, of course." A rueful shake of her head. "I was _so_ angry with him."

"Then, one night, a vampire came. My father told me to stay inside, but I didn't listen. I took my crucifix and a stake and went outside to help him."

Her voice was now so soft he could barely hear her.

"When my father found me, the vampire was drinking from me. The monster used me to win my father's weapons. Then, while I escaped, he killed – _killed_ my father."

There was no sound in the car now but rain as it pattered on the roof.

At a complete loss for words, Sam took her hand.

Lucy looked at him at last, her face wet with tears. "I would give anything – _anything_ – to change what happened."

He touched her cheek and she pulled back, not quite done with her story.

"My mother blamed me. So did I." She shrugged when she saw the protest in his eyes. "She couldn't stand to even look at me. A few months after it happened, she sent me to live with Aunt Solange." Lucy drew in a ragged breath. "She killed herself a few days later."

"Lucy –"

"We are alike, Sam," she said harshly. "I killed the vampire that murdered my father when I was seventeen."

Sam felt the truth of that in his bones. They _were_ alike, the two of them, and Dean. Damaged, and struggling to survive the horror of their childhoods.

"When my father died, I wanted to follow him," Lucy said, voice softening. "But that would have made his sacrifice worthless. He wanted me to live, to be happy. So, I live the best life I can, for him. And for myself." Her eyes were full of compassion. "Would your mother, your girl, want any less for you?"

Sam broke. With a groan, he took hold of her, held her, felt the vulnerability beneath the tough shell she wore to protect herself. That vulnerability caught him. Murmuring her name, he took her lips, softly at first, then with a desperation matched only by her fierce hunger.

Moments, eons, later, as Lucy lay quiescent in his arms, there was no fear for her in his heart, only regret that he couldn't stay. Reading that regret in his eyes, she laid a quieting finger across his lips.

" _No me importa, querido,"_ she whispered _. "No me importa_."


	27. Chapter 27

Dean lies awake in the big bed, staring up at the rotating ceiling fan. Elena is cuddled up beside him, drifting in and out of sleep. Her long dark hair streams across his chest; her face is smooshed against a handy, and muscular, pec.

Oscar, a big orange bruiser of a cat, is dozing at the foot of the bed. He's got one virulent, yellow eye on the stranger in his mistress' bed, the other on a mouse hole in the corner of the room.

Sam is still out, but Dean's not worried. Not yet. The bounty hunter is sure to be eating dirt by now, and Sam's been taking care of himself for a long time.

Plus, he's got Lucy with him. Dean's sure she could mop up the floor with anyone stupid enough to screw with them.

So, no, Dean isn't worried. Not yet.

He just can't sleep.

His cell phone, sitting on the bedside table, buzzes with an incoming text. Trying not to wake Elena, he picks up the phone and looks at the message.

It's from Sam.

" _I'm good. See you in the morning."_

"That's my boy," Dean murmurs, grinning.

Another text buzzes in.

" _Shut up."_

Dean chuckles, the movement waking Elena. She grumbles a complaint and he caresses an apology. Then, putting the phone back on the table, he curls around Elena and closes his eyes.

He can sleep now.

ΩΩΩ

DONE!

Thanks to everyone who's been reading. I hope you had as good a time reading it as I had writing it.


End file.
